


The Very Big Book of Human Anatomy

by sburbanite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (off screen), Choose your own genitalia, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 00:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20017348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: Aziraphale wants to make an Effort, but he'd like to see the menu first. Crowley catches him browsing.





	The Very Big Book of Human Anatomy

Aziraphale always had his nose in a book, so Crowley became very skilled at distracting him. Before the Apocalypse-that-wasn't his repertoire was rather limited; putting an extra slink in his swagger, amplifying the bookshop's bell ever so slightly, loudly declaring his intention to get wickedly, uproariously sloshed, that sort of thing. It worked, most of the time. Aziraphale was occasionally stubborn enough to wait him out, keeping his head down and his eyes fixed on the pages while Crowley slouched and sulked around the dark corners of the shop. 

Now, after their world had failed to end in spectacular style, Crowley found he could be a little bolder. He could approach the angel directly, gently close the book he was reading, and offer a temptation of lunch or dinner with his most charming smile. It worked nine times out of ten; nine and a half if Crowley took his sunglasses off first. Of course, Aziraphale sometimes gave him a  _ look _ over the top of his fussy little reading glasses when he was about halfway across the room, and on those occasions Crowley recovered as smoothly as possible by plonking himself down on the sofa and messing about on his phone until the angel was ready to acknowledge him. If Crowley had gotten good at anything after six thousand years, it was waiting for Aziraphale to be ready.

The game of give and take between them was changing, slowly. Or, maybe the game was the same but the playing field was shifting? The other day, Aziraphale had taken his arm, easy as you please, as they walked to a local cafe. Crowley had almost forgotten how to walk. It was strange to feel Aziraphale reaching for him, after all those centuries of discreetly, desperately throwing himself at the angel. Strange, but very, very welcome. The pace might be glacial, but for Aziraphale a casual, affectionate touch on the arm was ninety miles an hour down Oxford Street. Maybe if he was lucky he might get a kiss on the cheek sometime this decade. Crowley was looking forward to finding out, no matter how long it took.

On this particular afternoon, Crowley parked the Bentley in its usual spot; squarely on the double yellow lines outside the bookshop. Inside, he could sense the aura of distracted happiness that Aziraphale always radiated when he was reading. Crowley reckoned the book must be really damned good, because Aziraphale didn't even look up when the bell tinkled and Crowley sauntered into the bookshop. 

"Afternoon, angel," he said, affection creeping into his voice without permission. 

After all, who wouldn't be overcome with rather un-demonic warm fuzzy feelings at the sight Aziraphale crinkling his nose with concentration? He was poring over a very large book, which was normal, but it was also a very  _ new _ book, which was not. Whatever it was about, it was interesting enough that Aziraphale hadn't even glanced at him yet.

"Doing a little light reading, are we?" 

"Oh! Crowley, I didn't see you come in."

Aziraphale looked up, red faced, and slammed the book closed. As he did so, Crowley caught a glimpse of illustrations in vivid pinks and flesh-tones. What on Earth had Aziraphale been reading? He supposed it could be something as mundane as pornography, but Aziraphale had plenty of books of erotic art, and his only reaction to Crowley walking in on him reading one was to carefully place a bookmark on his current page and close it reverently. This book had to be something else, but Crowley didn't get a chance to look at the cover before it disappeared quickly into a desk drawer.

"Everything alright?" Crowley asked, carefully. 

"Yes, of course, I was hoping I'd see you today," Aziraphale said, rather too quickly. The angel was flustered, Crowley noticed, but he clearly didn't want to talk about it. "It's lovely weather, I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk in the park?"

"Sure thing angel, sounds divine. Dinner after?"

He grinned, eyebrows raised cheekily over the top of his glasses. Aziraphale turned an even more attractive shade of pink.

"Oh, most definitely."

Aziraphale stood up and fetched a tartan picnic blanket and a few excellent bottles of wine from his back room. 

"I thought you said we were going for a walk?" Crowley asked, amused.

"Well, I thought we'd probably want to stop for a rest after a bit. We have to have a proper picnic blanket or we'll just look like a pair of vagrants getting smashed in a public garden, my dear."

Crowley looked at his and Aziraphale's outfits. Aziraphale, as usual, was dressed like a regency gentleman, whereas Crowley liked to think he looked like one of the edgier types of fashion models. While it was true that their outfits didn't belong in the same century, let alone on the same bench at the park, nothing about them was in the least bit shabby.

"Vagrants, Aziraphale? Really?"

Aziraphale sighed and picked at the corner of the blanket. 

"I just thought it would be nice, that's all. A little wine in the sunshine, just the two of us?"

"If you wanted to have a picnic, angel, you could have just said. Whatever you want is just tickety-boo with me, you know that."

It came out sounding a little more genuine than sarcastic, but it was worth the slight knock to Crowley's pride to see Aziraphale smile like that. Sometimes Crowley wondered if he'd be blinded if he looked at that smile without his sunglasses. It did something to him, sending little shocks of bright fire down his spine which spread out warmly into his chest. 

Aziraphale offered his arm this time, and Crowley took it. He could feel Aziraphale's warmth through his clothes, could feel the way he didn't shake at all. They made their way to St James' the long way, past all the little shops Aziraphale liked. As the angel drooled over pastries and antiques and a display of ridiculously over-the-top bow ties, Crowley found he didn't mind the pace one bit. It was what Aziraphale needed, clearly. If this was Crowley's life now; days spent in the summer sunshine gently drawing closer to the person he loved most in the world, then he could live with that. Oh, he could live most happily with that.

The park was quiet, the shadows lengthening as the sun started to dip below the trees. Aziraphale laid the blanket down in a patch of waning sunlight and sat down in the middle of it, leaving Crowley little choice but to sit very close indeed. Aziraphale offered him the first bottle of wine, and Crowley opened it with a minor miracle, flicking the cork out of the bottle and high into the air before catching it in his teeth. Aziraphale laughed, which wasn't exactly the intended effect.

"You really aren't very cool, are you, my dear?" He said as he took the bottle and poured it into a glass that had definitely been back at the bookshop a few seconds ago.

"What? As if you'd know! You think stage magic is cool."

"I never said it was cool, I said it was  _ fun _ . It was a silly use of a miracle, at any rate. I was just about to pass you the corkscrew."

"Not psychic, am I?" Crowley said, grumpily. He accepted the glass of wine and drank, intending to sulk a little while until Aziraphale made it up to him. 

"No, no, I suppose not. Nor am I, more's the pity."

Crowley frowned. Aziraphale had come over all melancholy all of a sudden, like clouds passing in front of the sun. That simply wouldn't do.

"What's up, angel? Something's wrong, I can tell."

"It's nothing, really. Forget I said anything."

Aziraphale made an attempt at a smile, but it was a little too late for that. Crowley had seen behind the metaphorical curtain now, and he'd be damned (again) if he let Aziraphale draw it back over his emotions.

"Please, Aziraphale. Talk to me." Crowley tapped the side of his head, "Not psychic, but also not stupid, yeah? Whatever it is it'll be better shared."

"It's embarrassing," Aziraphale said, quietly, fiddling with the edge of the blanket again. Crowley held his breath and reached out to take the angel's other hand in his. Aziraphale grasped it like a lifeline, squeezing tightly. 

"It can't be that bad, angel," he said.

Aziraphale looked at him imploringly. 

"I rather think it is, I'm afraid."

"Whatever it is, it'll be fine, I promise," Crowley said, squeezing the angel's hand. It was sweating quite a lot, but Crowley tactfully decided not to mention it.

Aziraphale made an uncomfortable noise and took a sip of his wine. 

"I do want to talk about it, dear boy, but not  _ here _ . And if we go back to the bookshop the whole evening will be ruined. We were going to have wine and a lovely dinner…"

"We have wine and dinner all the time, missing one evening won't hurt. Besides, I won't enjoy it if I know you're fretting."

Crowley took the bottle of wine from Aziraphale's unresisting hand and jammed the cork back into it. It would keep until later if it knew what was good for it. 

"Sorry," Aziraphale said.

"I _mean_ I can't have fun if you're not having fun, angel. Let's go home and figure it out, shall we?"

Home. He'd called the bookshop  _ home _ . Where the Hell had that come from? Aziraphale didn't comment on it, so Crowley stood up and brushed bits of grass off his jeans and didn't think about what he'd just said at all. Instead, he reached down to help Aziraphale up. The angel kept hold of his hand as Crowley pulled him up and in close to him, closer than they'd been since he pushed the angel against the wall a few short weeks and a lifetime ago. They were close enough that Aziraphale's breath ghosted over the patch of chest at the neck of his t-shirt, ever so slightly warmer than the evening air. He wondered if it should make his skin tingle like that. Then Aziraphale bent to snatch up the picnic blanket and the moment was over. 

"Right then, off we go." 

Before Crowley could blink, (which he did, unusually), Aziraphale had let go of his hand and was marching over the grass toward the park gates, back straight and head held high.

They took the short way back to the bookshop.

***

"So, I assume this has something to do with that book you were reading, earlier?" Crowley hazarded. 

After they reached the bookshop, Aziraphale had plonked himself down in his desk chair and re-opened the wine. He refused to look Crowley in the eye, or even in the face. At the mention of the book, Aziraphale somehow managed to look even more uncomfortable.

"I can just go," Crowley said, pointing to the door, "I don't mind. We don't have to talk about anything."

"No, please stay," Aziraphale said, finally looking at him, "I want you to stay. Would you come over here, please?"

Crowley did as instructed, unfolding from the battered old sofa and moving to stand next to Aziraphale. The angel slowly opened the desk drawer and pulled out the big, new book he'd been so interested in earlier.

"The Very Big Book of Human Anatomy?" 

It wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting. Crowley wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it had been considerably more racy than a medical textbook.

"I've been doing research, you see," Aziraphale said, tentatively opening the page to where he'd left off earlier. Crowley stared at the pictures. There were a lot of them, all very detailed images of human genitalia. 

"Okay? I can see that, yes," he said, trying to keep his face as blank as possible. "Er. Why, exactly?"

Aziraphale shifted in his seat.

"Well, that's the embarrassing part, dear. I've never really made any sort of  _ effort _ before, if you catch my meaning."

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale's meaning had caught him right in the chest. He didn't trust himself to speak right now because Aziraphale was talking frankly about his detailed genital research and he honestly didn't know what he might say.

"And I wasn't sure what I might like, or what the options were, so to speak, not to mention what you…"

Aziraphale swallowed the end of his sentence, looking anxiously at his hands.

"...what I?" Crowley asked, feeling his whole universe contract to this room, in this bookshop, where Aziraphale was talking about his theoretical genitalia and Crowley in the same sentence.

Aziraphale winced.

"...what you might like, I suppose. What would be good. For you."

"Aziraphale, why on Earth would that matter?"

Judging from the way Aziraphale's face fell, that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

"I just mean, y'know," Crowley continued, "You're  _ you _ , angel. That's what's, uh, good for me. I honestly couldn't care less what's between your legs."

"Are you sure, dear?" Aziraphale bit his lip and looked up at Crowley through his eyelashes. "Not even a little bit?" 

"Yes. No. What?" 

Crowley felt his face heating up. Whatever Aziraphale was doing it was entirely unfair.

"Angel, I swear to G- to Everything, if this is some weird attempt at seduction-"

"-No, no, nothing like that!"

"Well, good. Good. We haven't even kissed yet, for fuck's sake."

Aziraphale stood up, crowding into Crowley's personal space. He was close enough to see every little line around the angel's eyes, every flicker of movement in his lips.

"Would you like to, darling?"

"Ngk."

Time seemed to slow as Aziraphale leaned in, or maybe the angel was just moving unbearably slowly. Crowley simply couldn't take it anymore. He surged forward and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's and felt the angel sigh happily against him. They kissed for a while, in the dusty evening light of the bookshop, slow and lazy and perfect. It was magic, Crowley thought, not the terrible stage kind but the alchemy that came of six thousand years of friendship and laughter and wine and longing. Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's waist and pulled him flush against him, so that the angel could feel just exactly how incredibly interested Crowley was in him, whether he chose to make an Effort or not. With his other hand, he very gently closed the book.

Later, when they were both tired and pleasantly disheveled, lying on the old four-poster bed above Aziraphale's shop, Crowley would ask him why he'd felt the need to go into quite so much detail with his research.

"After all," he said, admiring the way Aziraphale's hair was sticking up at all kinds of angles, "I know you've seen humans naked before. We've been to art galleries together, you daft old sod. The ones in Italy were practically papered with dicks and fannies."

"Crowley, would you  _ really _ rather I had used Michelangelo's David for inspiration? Or the Creation of Adam, perhaps?"

Crowley wrinkled his nose. Maybe art wasn't the best reference.

"I never did understand old Michelangelo's thing with small cocks. Seems like a complex of some kind to me."

"I honestly can't say I had a preference up until today," Aziraphale said, grinning wickedly, "but now I think I definitely agree."


End file.
